


distant (like you asked me)

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Endgame, Roommates, Safe and happy Tony Stark, Smut, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-07 08:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18406742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: Steve saves the world. Maybe not single-handedly, but he plays an important part in it. Steve saves so many people, but finds himself only caring about one. The one who might not care that much about him.Of Steve and Bucky, unlikely roommates, heroes of the past and nobodies of the future.





	distant (like you asked me)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what's going to happen in Endgame, but we're just going to ignore it for now and assume both Steve and Bucky come out alive, and this is what happens next.
> 
> tw for some PTSD / depression symptoms

The cars are unusually loud today.

Everything seems louder now, after, well, that one thing that has ended just mere months ago that Steve is doing his best not to think about. He’s got a new apartment in Brooklyn and the windows open to a busy street. He dusts off the windowsills and finds a spot for a little plant Wanda brought as a housewarming gift, carefully setting it down in the corner so it doesn’t fall eight floors down to the street. It probably wouldn’t survive the crash. Steve just might, so he settles himself on the windowsill too, less carefully, breathing in the slightly dusty air of early spring as the cars keep roaring underneath.

Steve is trying to enjoy the normalcy. Some days he finds himself even liking it. He gets up in the morning, goes for a run before the neighbourhood gets too busy, finishes it off in a bakery where he tries to pay for his bread and scones but the owner never lets him. She’s got his signed photograph put up on the wall - he’s smiling in it, but his eyes are a little dead. He could have done better. So every day he brings home his free scones and bread, takes a shower, makes some breakfast, drinks coffee or a fruit smoothie if he’s feeling particularly healthy. Life just goes on, even if most of the people he meets on the streets have a more or less haunted gaze because they either spent years disintegrated in a cosmic void, or spent years missing their loved ones who were disintegrated in a cosmic void.

“I know you’re superhuman and all that, but a fall from this height could still kill you, you know. Or at least seriously hurt you.” Bucky walks into the living room, pausing for a mere second to look at Steve with a frown, and then moving on to the kitchen area to eat whatever’s left after Steve’s breakfast. He’s not wearing a shirt. He doesn’t bother wearing shirts around Steve’s apartment much these days and Steve feels like he should be okay with it, completely unbothered by it, but he finds himself really wanting to look away, like Bucky’s naked torso and the way his vibranium arm melts into the skin of his shoulder is something he shouldn’t be seeing, even if he’s seen it a thousand times already.

“I’m fine. It’s just such a nice day. I like the way the air feels. Like it’s brand new.”

“Yeah, that. Sure. Or you just can’t go one day without seeking a thrill,” Bucky quips, a carton of orange juice in one hand and a scone in the other. He sets the juice on the windowsill and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, standing next to him to look out of the window for a short moment.

“Why the hell are the cars so loud today?” he asks before walking away, Steve still shivering from the gentle touch.

*

It was supposed to be temporary.

After the remaining Avengers brought everybody back and went back in time, to Before, scattered around the compound like aimless ghosts for days on end, after they more or less finished licking their wounds and silently crying and patting each other on the backs, after staring at the empty spaces by the table got a little too painful and after one day Tony Stark just got up in the middle of another pointless meeting, said _alright, that’s it, I’m leaving, like, for good this time_ , when Steve realized there was nothing much left for them to actually do at the moment, he found an apartment for himself, this time without any S.H.I.E.L.D. neighbors silently spying on him. It felt like second nature to just ask Bucky if he wanted to stay with him until he decided what to do with his life. That, and Steve really liked the idea of having his best friend as close as possible, especially having just gotten him back.

Steve’s apartment had a spare bedroom and Bucky never said no. He said _thanks, man, I’d really like that, if it’s not an issue for you_ , and it hasn’t been as issue for Steve.

Not in any way that mattered, at least. In other, less important ways, like the fact that Steve was for some reason bothered by seeing Bucky without his shirt on, it’s been a whole world of issues.

Temporary arrangements often last the longest. It feels like it’s been forever and Bucky seems to have no idea what to do with himself and no desire to move on. Their United Nations-sanctioned missions come few and far between, so he’s mostly holed up in Steve’s spare bedroom, reading countless books like his life depends on it, slowly figuring out how to use the internet and updating Steve on his progress via different apps.

When Steve was done with moving furniture around and decorating, he decided to host a housewarming party and everybody who showed up just assumed Bucky was a host as well. Laura Barton handed him a set of classy wine glasses as a gift and asked how he’s been settling in so far. Tony dropped by, tanned and relaxed and in casual clothes, and at some point Steve overheard him in the hallway whispering to Bucky, “I’m going to be civil, yeah? For Steve’s sake. Can I expect the same thing from you?”

The worst blow came in the unexpected form of Sam, already on his third beer, leaning across the kitchen island and nearly yelling over the music, “So what are you guys’ plans for the nearest future? Any save-the-dates I'll be getting in the mail soon? I like to be ready in advance.”

Steve doesn’t remember too well, but he probably just left to the bathroom at that point. He didn’t want to see the look on Bucky’s face.

The truth was, Steve doesn’t know how to navigate the world without his best friend in it, but he also has no idea how to navigate one _with_ him in it.

So they get used to it. They get used to quiet companionship, to alternating in household chores, to Bucky always driving when they go on missions, to watching TV together even though Steve really hates _Game of Thrones_ and to their weekly pizza nights. Steve gets so used to hearing the door unlock in the dark of the night when Bucky goes out to a 24/7 gym that he starts sleeping through it. He gets used to living with a ghost a lot of the time, days upon days of Bucky not leaving his bedroom at all except to go to the bathroom. It’s still better than the years of not having him around at all, so Steve adjusts.

The idea of _temporary_ changes for him, too.

*

“Hey Steve, do you mind if I join you for your run?” Bucky asks, peeking out of his room already dressed in his workout gear, even though it's only 6:30 in the morning. His hair is a wild cloud around his head and his eyes are rimmed red, but Steve pretends not to see.

“Sure. Even though it's not your style to be awake so early,” Steve muses, tying his shoes and waiting for Bucky to do the same.

“I haven't gone to sleep yet. Not the greatest night. I need to tire myself out before I attempt sleeping again,” Bucky answers like it's something normal people do, stepping out of the apartment and pressing the elevator button as Steve locks up.

The fresh air hits them pleasantly upon stepping outside. The streets are relatively empty, Bucky has pulled his hair into a bun so it doesn't bother him as he runs and the apartment keys are hitting Steve's thigh in a familiar way with every step. At first, he doesn't want to run too quickly, concerned whether the other man would be able to keep up with him. Five minutes in he realizes Bucky is doing the exact same thing, looking to Steve surreptitiously every ten seconds to check how he's doing. They abruptly stop in wait for traffic lights to change, Steve rests his palms on his knees and Bucky actually laughs.

“What are we doing? I haven't somehow mysteriously gotten unfit while you weren't looking and I don't think you have either, so why are we being soft with each other?”

Bucky’s amused. Steve looks to him, enjoying the brief flash of mischief on his face. “Alright then, Mister Supersoldier, no holds barred mode on it is,” Steve decides, and as soon as the light turns green, they both kick into fifth gear, the buildings and roads blurry in their peripheral vision.

Steve has to admit he gets a little tired, not letting himself slow down for even a second because Bucky overtakes him, grins and mockingly asks “Is that all you got, old man?”. An indecent thought of pushing Bucky against a nearby tree and - _doing what exactly?_ \- flashes through Steve's brain but he just keeps running instead, pounding the ground with his feet like it’s guilty of Steve’s stupid feelings, sweat rolling down his neck, his consolation prize getting to look at Bucky from behind in full daylight.

They make a stop at the bakery, as per Steve's little tradition, and the owner behind the counter almost passes out. “Mr. Barnes! What an honor!”

Bucky smiles uncomfortably, says a small thank you and rattles off his list of favorite baked goods. The lady packs them without so much as looking anywhere but Bucky's face. Steve goes into alert mode, paying attention just in case the situation escalates into something that needs handling, but Bucky seems fine, even when the owner asks him for a photo and doesn’t seem to take no for an answer. Tense and apprehensive, Bucky stands next to the woman, eyes silently begging Steve for help as she wraps an arm around his waist and grins widely, Steve snapping the picture.

They leave the bakery with twice as much free food as Steve usually does, and Bucky shakes something off like he's a dog who just got wet. “You do this every day? _Willingly?_ ”

“To be fair, you only have to take the photo once, and then sign it once she develops it. Afterwards it's just… a lot of free bread.”

“Great,” Bucky half-smiles at Steve, holding onto his bag full of bagels. “I don't think she's getting my signature anytime this century,” he says, running off towards their building, leaving Steve to follow.

*

It takes them forever to get through breakfast because Bucky decides to make fruit smoothies. He’s a man of many talents, but as it turns out handling a blender isn’t one of them. He refuses to give up though, even where there’s splashes not just on their shirts, but also in their hair.

It’s a rare day of Bucky’s good mood. At this point they’ve both mostly forgotten that Bucky was supposed to go to sleep after the run; this easy conversation over delicious bagels in a sunny kitchen seems much more important, and the smoothies actually turn out great, which Steve thinks is a testament to hard work paying off. Locks of hair are escaping the bun on Bucky’s head and Steve feels _whole_ for the first time in forever.

“I’m giving this speech at Columbia on Friday,” he says, wondering whether he should go for another bagel or stop at three. “Apparently people still have plenty of questions. A lot of the students want to know what they can do as their part in protecting the world.”

The mood shifts. Bucky nods, thoughts flooding in and clouding his face slowly. Steve regrets touching that topic, but how long can the two of them go without acknowledging anything that happened? He did notice the way Bucky stops to look at the framed photo of Steve with Nat and Bruce, tucked in among other photos on the bookshelf in the living room; a photo with ghosts of the past who deserved so much better. “Do you want this to become, like, something of a job?” Bucky asks.

“A job? What, public speaking? I - I don’t know. It’s what I used to do, remember? Back when I wanted to be a soldier, but became a walking PR machine. But I want to help people, you know? I know I want to keep helping. So I think providing the kids with some comfort is a good way to start.”

Bucky nods again, thoughtfully flexing his metal fingers. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. You’re good at it, too.”

“Do you wanna go with me?”

“What?” Bucky laughs, looking around like maybe there’s someone else in the room Steve is talking to. “I don’t do public speaking, no way in hell.”

“No, I - I know, Buck. That’s not what I meant. I just thought it would be nice to have you there as moral support.”

Steve reaches for his coffee cup without looking. He misses, and his hand lands on Bucky’s. Why was Bucky’s hand there in the first place? Neither of them moves to remedy the situation and Bucky catches Steve’s gaze.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Yes. I already said that.”

“Okay then, I’ll go. No problem. I do enjoy watching you - do things,” Bucky finishes awkwardly before Steve finally lets go, finds his coffee cup and hides his face behind it.

Oh God. What does this even mean? He has to ask someone smarter than him for advice and he needs to do it sooner rather than later. Nat comes to mind first, but it’s going to be difficult to get any answers from a photo. Maybe he could call Tony? Tony knows a thing or two about relationships. Ever since they were on speaking terms again Steve received a lot of Tony selfies from various exotic getaways or ski trips to the Alps, sometimes both within the same week. Now that Pepper’s pregnancy is reaching its end the exotic trips have ceased and the photos mostly include happy Tony out and about in New York, the latest one from just last morning with Peter Parker wearing an _Older brother_ T-shirt, which Steve thinks is very sweet.

No, bothering Tony with his own stupid issues doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. Maybe Sam will find a moment to help him out, even if he has to laugh as Steve first.

“Hey, Steve? You there?” Bucky snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, man, I zoned out. What were you saying?”

“I’m gonna go take a shower and clean up afterwards, okay?”

“No, I’m gonna clean up here while you shower, don’t worry. You were supposed to sleep, remember?”

Bucky makes a face like he actually forgot, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. But I’m cooking dinner tonight.”

“Deal,” Steve replies, lightly punching Bucky’s shoulder and gazing after him as he leaves the room. “You’re infamously bad at cleaning anyway!”

Yeah, Steve  _really_ needs help, stat.

*

It's a little daunting to see so many young faces in one place and barely a sliver of hope between them. Steve would really love to personally shake some of the Columbia students by the arms. They're alive, they're physically untouched by the time that has passed when they were disintegrated, they get a chance to start anew if they want and nobody will blame them. It's a clean slate.

Steve knows a thing or two about those.

He gives the speech, but it's tiring to be the only one trying to keep the sparkle of hope alive. The Q&A session is not the “students looking for ways to help protect the world” kind Maria Hill promised, it's more of the “students terrified of dying every second of their lives” kind. It's awfully relieving to see Bucky's face when Steve’s finally done and steps into the little backstage area of the auditorium.

“What the hell, man, why are you so pale?”

Steve doesn't answer, falling into his friend's arms, seeking comfort in what feels like home the most. Bucky hugs him back without hesitation, patting his back firmly, and doesn’t flinch when Steve rests his cheek on Bucky's shoulder, staying like that for a second too long. When they pull away it's because they can hear Maria's heels clicking towards them from the hallway.

Bucky drives them back home. They make a stop for sweet potato fries, something that became Bucky's favorite snack in the new century, but apart from that, their drive is uneventful and quiet.

That is until Steve decides to ask, half-honestly and half-sarcastically, “How’d you like my speech, Buck?”

Bucky's wearing leather gloves so Steve can't exactly see his knuckles go white on the steering wheel, but he just knows deep down that happens. “It was good, Steve. You sounded like - like you believed what you said. That things are going to be fine from now on.”

“I do believe it,” Steve says, already aware that he's walking himself into a corner. “Every single word.”

“Do you really? Do you actually believe anything you say at this point?”

The words seem too spiteful to actually be coming from Bucky. But what the hell, maybe Steve doesn't really know Bucky that well anymore. Maybe he just thinks he knows this man who spends most of his life behind closed doors, sometimes emerging to play house with Steve only to disappear again a couple hours later.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“I'm just saying. We tried to save the world too, both of us, and look how we turned out.”

Steve wants to say something. He wants to call Bucky out, write down a list of things Bucky is currently doing that just make everything worse for him, for them both, but he can't. He might have spent 70 years frozen and then he might have felt dead inside trying to bring half the world back from the dead, but ultimately, he's always been good at coping. He's coping. Bucky, on the other hand, had his arm replaced with metal parts. Had his mind messed with. Had been tortured and made to forget everything he ever knew except how to kill. Ultimately, Steve should shut up, and definitely shouldn't say they both landed on their feet somehow.

So he shuts up like he's supposed to.

They make it home without talking. It's not like they're in a fight or anything, at least Steve hopes they're not, but he still hasn't calmed down and he just really wants to make Bucky talk to him, even if it's going to end in a shouting match.

He closes the door behind them. Bucky hangs up his jacket and makes a move like he’s ready to disappear inside his bedroom again, but Steve is not having it. He's been having it for months and he's done, so he grabs his friend by the wrist and holds on.

“So now what? You're just going to go? Lock yourself up in your room and pretend I don’t exist until you’re in the mood to see me again? When will that be, tomorrow? Or the day after? Because I might want to make other plans.”

Offense lights up Bucky’s eyes. Good, at least it’s a genuine emotion. “What else do you want me to do? You don’t understand how this _feels_ , how-”

“I don’t, because you refuse to tell me!”

“What do you want me to _tell you_ , Steve? Do you want me to rip my heart out at your feet and let you have your way with it? Is that what you want me to do?”

The noise in Steve’s head suddenly shuts down, all of his senses focusing on the man in front of him. Bucky is being consumed by chaos. Out of nowhere, Steve knows it’s his role to pull him out of it. “Yes,” he says calmly. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Bucky doesn’t wait a second longer. Steve catches a brief flash of fear in his eyes when he lunges forward and their lips connect. Steve is ready; his arms wind up around the other man in no time and secure him against Steve’s chest, rising and falling with deep, ragged breaths. Bucky moves his lips with no timidity, his tongue finding the way in and okay, maybe that is the part Steve wasn’t quite ready for. He forced himself to cut his imagination short so many times, but he still does exactly what he wanted to do for so long; finds Bucky’s hand (the human flesh one), runs his fingers up along Bucky’s forearm, then his muscular shoulder, up to his neck and all the way to the nape where he sinks his fingers in, pulling the other man even closer.

Bucky pushes Steve’s jacket off and closes his bionic fingers on Steve’s bicep. Steve is grateful for the supersoldier serum that is the only thing currently saving said bicep from falling to pieces under Bucky’s touch. He’s repeatedly biting down on Bucky’s lower lip, eliciting soft groans that go straight to his crotch.

Their lips break apart for a second and Steve suddenly remembers to breathe. Bucky’s hands are on his waist.

“Fuck, Steve, I’ve been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea.”

“ _You’ve_ been waiting? You jerk, I was -” Steve doesn’t get to finish because Bucky’s mouth is on his again, his hair is being pulled in a way that is very far from gentle, but feels just _perfect_.

Their teeth clash against each other and all Steve wants is just to pull Bucky closer, to have more of him, even if it’s currently not possible. He feels a dull push and his back collides with a nearby wall, his breath coming out in a puff. Bucky brackets him with his arms, tilting Steve’s neck up and dropping kisses there, Steve’s legs going weak in a very human way. To find some balance, he pushes one of his legs between two of Bucky’s, their hips slotting together, and Steve can finally feel he is not the only person here enjoying what’s happening. He’s in sort of a haze when Bucky guides him to the couch, but he’s still aware enough to register that Bucky is now _in his lap_ , kissing him again and messing up his hair.  

They definitely reach a place you don’t really come back from. _Are we fucking things up? Are we ruining our friendship?_ Steve asks himself in the far, far back part of his brain that is currently not occupied with moving his tongue, hands and giving him a boner. He pushes the question even further, stuffs it in some drawer to look at again at a more convenient time. Or maybe never. He needs to concentrate on kissing Bucky now.

There’s a moment of hesitation when Bucky touches the side of Steve’s face and the kisses slow down, until they break away completely and look into each other’s eyes. Bucky’s face seems to be mirroring exactly what Steve is feeling, which is a mixture of lust, confusion, fear and a healthy dose of pure shock.

_It’s too much. But it’s fine. We will go through it together._

“Steve,” Bucky finally says, low and raspy like he’s got a sore throat. “Steve, I - I need you to give me space.”

The words are a blow straight to Steve’s solar plexus. “ _Space?_ Are you serious? And you’re saying this now?” He vaguely gestures to where their bodies are still joined, crotches flush together, hands grabbing for each other and Bucky embraces the absurdity of the situation, choking out a brief laugh. He presses his thumb against Steve mouth wonderingly, something soft in his expression that Steve knows only he can bring out.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - no, scratch that. I really wanted to. I just - I need some time to think things through.”

Bucky’s already had _months_ to think things through. It’s unfair. “Buck, just, just talk to me, okay?”

“Before I do, I have to know what I want to say.”

Swiftly, Bucky removes himself from Steve’s lap, leaving behind an empty space, a door slamming behind him seconds later.

*

Steve’s life is just an endless cycle of losing Bucky and fighting to get him back only to lose him again. This time, Steve loses his best friend to the most enigmatic enemy so far: a locked door.

Their lives resume as normal, parallel and sometimes intertwined, except Steve is paranoid now. He’s careful not to touch Bucky, not even by accident, and if that happens, he makes a point to apologize profusely.

“You’re overdoing it,” Bucky says one afternoon when Steve wants to give him back some change from the laundromat and places it on the table instead of straight in Bucky’s hand. But Bucky said _space_ , and Steve’s trying to give him as much of it as possible while they still share the same apartment. At some point he even offers to take the subway to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, but Bucky straight up laughs at him and tells him to get in the car.

It’s worse. It’s definitely worse than it was before they decided it wouldn’t hurt to make out a little. Or a lot. Steve’s not too sure how to classify whatever happened between them.

He's not helped by the ghost feeling of Bucky's lips on his that floods him in the worst possible moments. That, or the fact that he's completely given up on stopping his imagination from wandering into the wildest uncharted territories. Bucky is still not a fan of wearing shirts.

All Steve’s sure of is that he never goes into Bucky’s bedroom. Not like he did it before; he always stayed out, but now he also doesn’t knock on the door to let Bucky know there’s dinner or to suggest they watch a movie.

It’s so, so much worse.

Sam comes back from some confidential mission in the Middle East that took him forever and the three of them go out for drinks. The lack of Natasha is still almost a physical presence among them and Steve wonders how long it’s going to stay like that. Probably forever, because forgetting her is not a realistic option, not for Steve at least. There’s also obvious tension between him and Bucky, so the entire evening is not a very happy affair, nor is it relaxing. He can’t even get drunk.

Bucky’s phone starts buzzing at some point. “It’s Hill. I better take it.”

He exits the relatively loud bar to talk to Maria and leaves Steve alone with Sam.

“Damn, what is going _on_ between you guys? You’re making me so uncomfortable. I could cut the tension with a knife.”

“So you’ve noticed?” Steve draws patterns in the condensation on the side of his beer glass.

“The very moment you walked in. Did you two have a fight or something?”

Steve pauses, remembering he did want to talk to someone smarter about his feelings and ultimately settled on Sam, he just never got around to it. Maybe now’s the time. “We didn’t. We kissed though.”

“...congratulations? How is this relevant?” Sam’s frowning and Steve realizes a very scary thing that should have been obvious to him in the first place.

“Right. Because you think Bucky and I have been together all this time.”

“Of course? Maybe not all this time because I’m not sure what you mean by that, but you live together now, for Christ’s sake. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Rogers.”

“I’m not. And we haven’t. But - I’m in love with him, alright? I love him, I always knew I do, but now I’m also _in love with him_. And we’ve kissed, but then he asked me to give him some space to think things through, it’s been almost two weeks since and I might be losing my mind here.”

“Whoa,” Sam takes a big sip of his beer, rolling his eyes. “This is all brand new information, brother. I don’t think I’ve had enough alcohol to take all of it in!”

“Well, me neither, but here I am.” Steve looks to Sam, knowing Bucky might be coming back any minute and he still hasn’t received any actual advice.

“When you two kissed,” Sam starts, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “who initiated it?”

Steve manages to drag the answer he believes is correct out of a lustful memory haze. “He did. But I kinda - provoked him?”

“Right. You gotta get complicated on me, fine. Was he into it, then?”

This question, on the other hand, is extremely easy to answer. “He was. Until he wasn’t and he told me to give him some _space_ , and -”

Steve doesn’t get to finish because Bucky comes back, shoving his phone back into his jacket pocket. “Maria just wanted to -” he stops dead, looking from Steve to Sam and then back to Steve, gauging the sudden change in atmosphere. “You know what, that’s irrelevant. Should I get us all one more round?”

Later, as they’re leaving the bar, slightly buzzed Sam leans in to whisper into Steve’s ear, “You, my dear friend, are a bisexual disaster.”

*

 **Steve:** We didn’t get to finish our talk. What would you do if you were me?

 **Sam:** Definitely wouldn’t cohabitate with the dude for months

 **Sam:** And pretend it’s platonic

 **Steve:** Thanks, I’m not talking to you anymore.

 **Sam:** Just stop being a big baby

 **Sam:** Say the L-word and then go from there

 **Steve:** And how does that NOT violate the space he asked me for?

 **Sam:** ...in the physical sense? 😀

 **Steve:** Goodnight, Sam.

Steve’s phone buzzes one more time a couple minutes later, but he’s already asleep.

*

Steve doesn’t sleep well anymore.

The click of the lock in the middle of the night when Bucky leaves to the gym now wakes him up each time it happens. The pouring rain banging against his windowsill keeps him up for hours. Exhausted, he makes a rookie mistake on a simple crime prevention job. A stray bullet grazes the exposed part of his neck and the amount of blood is, granted, nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it sends Bucky into absolute madness, which is a state where he just wants to hurt whoever happens to cross him and doesn’t care for his own safety. So Steve intervenes, attempting to solve the crisis before the blood loss causes him to pass out.

Nick Fury, understandably, yells his head off at them later like they're no better than young recruits, and Steve has a petty urge to remind him who brought him back from the Soul Realm.

(Carol. It was mostly Carol.)

He can’t go on like this. There's a dull headache lurking behind his temple. He’s pointlessly staring at his phone, 2:40 AM, tossing and turning and always ending up in the same place with no easy way out. Realizing this insomnia spell is not going to end anytime soon Steve decides he might as well grab his Kindle from the living room and a glass of water.

There’s a dark silhouette on the living room couch and it takes a moment for Steve to realize he’s probably not in mortal danger, not this time; it’s just Bucky. The man is hugging his own knees, staring at the TV that's turned off, his long mane of hair messily falling over half of his face.

“Buck? What’s going on?” No answer. “Bucky?”

Delicately, Steve bends down to brush the hair off Bucky’s face. In the warm glow of the lamp coming from Steve’s bedroom, he can see how red and wet his eyes are.

“M’fine. Just a nightmare. Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t. It’s fine. Let’s get you back in bed, okay?”

Bucky nods, the gesture barely there, but he’s completely pliant when pulled up and lead to Steve’s bedroom, and then gently guided to lie down, a blanket wrapped over his half-naked form. Steve’s not even sure Bucky is present enough to know he’s not in his own bed, until he mumbles, “This is way more comfortable than mine. Unfair, Rogers.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Steve watches Bucky turn to the wall and curl up on his side, and it's really messing with his heart.

To hell with Bucky’s distance; his emotional comfort is now the top priority. Steve slots in next to him, a moment’s hesitation before he shifts his own body into the big spoon, a sigh escaping him as he fully experiences the other man’s warmth. He waits for a reaction and for a second there’s nothing, until Bucky melts into the embrace, grabs Steve’s free hand that was loosely wrapped around his chest so far, and brings it to his mouth to kiss Steve’s knuckles.

To say Steve is perplexed would be an understatement of the century. Wide-eyed, he waits, afraid to breathe and scare away this moment of fragility.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. You don’t even know how sorry I am. Fuck, I am - I’m the worst for putting you through all of this.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Everything. All you ever do is risk your life for me and I can’t even give you anything in return. It hurts, but just because I know how much it hurts you.”

The darkness of the night keeps working its magic on Bucky. Steve’s so happy they’re finally talking he could actually cry, but he could also actually cry because of what Bucky’s saying.

“It doesn’t hurt me. I choose to do all the things I do, because you’re my best friend, remember? I’m with you to the end of the line. Hopefully you're with me, too.”

Bucky cradles Steve’s hand in both of his, dropping some more feathery kisses mixed with tears to Steve’s fingers. He doesn’t answer. Maybe it’s for the best they’re not looking at each other’s faces right now. Maybe it’s easier that way.

“Why do you keep pushing me away, Buck? If you’re - not into me, or however people say it these days, you can just tell me, alright? I don’t want to be lead on.”

Bucky shakes his head, his hair tickling Steve’s nose. “It’s not - it’s not that.”

“Well, what is it, then?” Steve asks at a loss, unsure of whether he should hold onto this tiny sliver of hope Bucky’s just presented him with. “Please tell me what it is, because a lot of the time it feels like you don’t care about me at all.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Steve. You’re pretty much the only thing I care about. And think about. It’s a little exhausting.”

At this point, Steve’s heart is beating in an insane rhythm that might as well send him to the hospital. Bucky must feel it. “Am I doing something wrong, then?”

“No. Definitely not. It’s all me. Can’t you see it?” Bucky twists in the embrace to look Steve in the eyes after all; a risky choice. “I’m nothing but a burden to you. I just can’t comprehend why you might even want me. I’ve been at it for months and I figured out absolutely nothing, I have zero answers to give you except that I care about you, more than I’m ever going to care about anyone else, and also that sometimes I think maybe I’d be better off dead so you could finally be happy. But that’s happened before, right? You never let me die in peace.”

Bucky’s smiling a little, but Steve doesn’t feel like smiling. _Stop being a big baby and say the L-word_ , suggests a pesky inner voice sounding disturbingly like Sam. But Steve can’t say it now, because Bucky would think he’s only doing it to make him feel better.

“Anyway, I was stupid to ask for more space. I hated the space,” Bucky murmurs, cuddling into Steve’s chest and hiding his face in Steve’s T-shirt, their arms wrapping around each other’s bodies for protection and comfort.

Steve gets to kiss the top of Bucky’s head like it’s something he’s already used to, gets to watch Bucky fall asleep peacefully and then wake up with a smile a couple hours later, but he still can’t shake off the bitter aftertaste of Bucky’s confession.

There it is: Bucky's heart at Steve’s feet, just like he wanted it.

*

They go for a run together in the morning, buy bread for breakfast (Bucky waits outside the bakery, his hood on so the owner doesn’t recognize him and ask to have the photo, which is already on her wall, signed) and then eat together and Steve finds it a little easier to breathe, but then it gets messy.

He’s not even done eating when he’s called for backup on one of Sam’s reconnaissance missions. He gets ready in five minutes because the car is already waiting for him, and he’s almost in the doorway when Bucky’s metal arm blocks his way out.

“Careful out there, alright? And please call me. I really hate when you go on missions without me.”

This is the first time Bucky’s expressed this kind of sentiment. Steve nods with understanding, because he does his fair share of worrying for Bucky too. “I’ll be fine.”

The arm is still blocking his way. Bucky reflects, and throws the arm around Steve’s neck instead. There’s a brief pause, both of them deciding between what they want to do and what they _should_ do, but Bucky acts first, quickly pressing his lips against Steve’s and not really giving him time to react, and then letting go. “Go now. They’re waiting.”

Steve carries the lightning fast kiss with him to the car and all the way to where Sam’s waiting for him, where he also finds out the reconnaissance mission is in Seattle.

It takes him four days to return home. There’s nowhere to charge his phone, so he keeps his texts to Bucky to a daily minimum. _I’m alive. I’m fine._ Calling him, how Bucky had wanted, is completely out of the question.

His entire body hurts when he finally drags himself up the stairs and inside the apartment. He’s exhausted, bruised all over and really missing the comfort of home.

But there’s something he’s been missing more. From the distance, that night spent sharing a bed with Bucky felt like maybe it happened in an alternate reality. Steve still half-expects to come back home to Bucky’s bedroom door locked as per usual.

The door’s open, but the room’s empty, Bucky’s hazardous piles of books moved from the center and pushed to the walls, the window letting in some air. Everything is eerily quiet. Steve walks the hallway with a heavy heart and finds Bucky by the kitchen table, shockingly fully clothed this time, holding a half-empty water bottle in both hands like a weapon.

“Hey,” Steve says, the muscles in his face too tired to smile. He can’t quite understand why he’s so nervous, but suddenly he needs to wipe the sweat off his palms against his jeans.

“Hey yourself,” Bucky replies, not moving from the table. “You’re _alive_ , huh? That’s good to know. Just peachy.”

“We were undercover, Buck, I couldn’t -”

“I understand.” Bucky’s tone is still accusatory and slightly sarcastic.

“Are we… are we fine?” Steve questions, because he honestly has no idea, working through the nervous shivers running through his body.

Bucky abandons the water bottle, crosses the space that separates them and goes in for a kiss, simultaneously wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. It’s not brief this time because Steve responds, eagerly kissing back, the stress mostly melting away, his body forgetting the tiredness and flipping the switch to excitement. He’s back home, Bucky’s _here_ , Steve finally has him in his arms again and there’s a chance they will work all this crap out. It’s just love; does it have to be so bloody difficult?

“ _Now_ we’re fine,” Bucky purrs into the skin of Steve’s neck, sucking it in lightly, which makes Steve go absolutely crazy. Before he completely loses it he has a brilliant idea to lift Bucky up, placing his palms underneath the backs of the other man’s thighs, and carry him to the couch.

Bucky giggles as he’s unceremoniously dropped, thankfully landing on the pillows. “Shit, you’re strong,” he jokes, pulling Steve in by the shirt so they’re both lying flush together. “And also the hottest person I have ever laid my eyes on.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that would be you.”

Bucky pretends to consider it. “Yeah, alright. You’re a close second though.”

“Jerk,” Steve quips, closing the inches of distance between their mouths.

It seems like this is the place he’s waited forever to get to. There’s no bad feelings between them, no anger, no pain, maybe a couple things left unsaid, but these will come in due time. It’s less important than the sensation of Bucky right underneath him, just two pieces of fabric separating their bodies -

“Oh my God, you’re wearing a shirt? Out of all the days you could have decided to finally wear a shirt at home, it had to be today?”

“Hey, I wear shirts!” Bucky tries to defend himself, but notices Steve expression. “Alright, alright, fine. Sorry. I take off mine if you take off yours.”

They drop the shirts almost at the same time. Bucky’s eyes are hungry when he reaches to smooth his fingertips down Steve’s exposed chest. “Can’t believe I finally get to touch these famous muscles. Will you bill me later? I feel like I’ve forgotten to buy a ticket.”

“Do you really have to be an asshole while I’m trying to get you off?” Steve asks, a little amused, but more frustrated.

“Get me off? Is that what’s happening? I didn’t realize.” Laughter dies against Bucky’s lips though when Steve reaches to touch Bucky through his loose, grey sweatpants. Steve is pretty sure he can hear a quiet _oh_ sound.

“Is that okay?” he asks, just to be safe, glad to finally break through Bucky’s nervous humor defense.

“No, I need more, I need these  _off,_  fuck -” Bucky struggles to get completely naked, Steve giving him more room to do so and waiting impatiently before Bucky gets to Steve’s pants. They’re a little more tricky to get rid of due to Steve wearing a belt and shoes but once the awkward part is over, Steve gets to feel every inch of Bucky’s skin against his and he’s pretty sure he’ll never forget this particular sensation.

“I want to touch you,” he says, catching Bucky’s gaze, realizing his own face is probably flooded with blush by now, but somehow he’s not ashamed.

“Good. I want you to touch me.”

Steve does. Maybe he should be looking at Bucky’s dick the whole time, because God knows he really wants to, but it seems even more satisfying to be looking at Bucky’s face, the way pleasure changes it, makes it softer and gentle and vulnerable and still so, so beautiful. “Tell me when to stop.”

“Never. Don’t. Please don’t stop.”

Steve doesn’t. He's learned that he's not the greatest at following orders, but this one he’ll gladly carry out. He keeps jerking Bucky off until the other man pulls him in roughly by the shoulders, their chests colliding, the feeling of skin on skin of their cocks pressed together slightly overwhelming.

Steve distracts himself by kissing under Bucky's ear and then along his jawline, rutting against him in a semi-coordinated rhythm, Bucky’s vibranium hand clasped somewhere on his butt and his regular one tracing Steve's spine frantically.

It's still way too much all at once, but Steve can take it up until Bucky pulls away to unceremoniously spit into his own hand and bring it down between their bodies. The added touch threatens to send Steve over the edge.

Steve’s not surprised that Bucky’s particularly skilled with his hands. He’s not surprised that he’s shameless, either; their gazes lock and when Steve tries to avert his eyes, Bucky holds him in place by the jaw. “Steve. Hey. I want to look at you.”

Steve tries to formulate a response, but only a groan comes out, and wants to kiss Bucky again but the wave of pleasure finally hits him and any idea of coordination goes out of the window. Through his haze, he can hear Bucky’s breath become ragged as well, and feel his hands seeking anchor on Steve’s back until the rest of his body becomes perfectly still. They both end up closing their eyes anyway.

So yeah. That. Steve is a bit anxious to look again, unsure of what happens next, but so far it’s alright because Bucky pulls him close to his chest and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple.

“It’s like you went away to war and left me, your long-suffering husband, to await your safe return. And then I gave you the official welcome.” Bucky chuckles, relaxed and cheerful. God, Steve will never tire of hearing his voice like that.

“I could live with getting a welcome like that every time,” Steve jokes, but not quite. Whatever he’s been letting himself imagine about being with Bucky so far pales in comparison to reality.

“Even when you go out for groceries?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m fine with it if it goes both ways,” Bucky muses. The cars outside are still a notch too loud for Steve’s taste. The plant from Wanda is green and thriving on the windowsill and the sun’s about to set.

“Deal. Because it’s your turn to buy groceries.”

*

The coffee cups are warming up Steve’s hands where the fingerless gloves can’t. The bench by the pier is not too comfortable but he’s still enjoying the view of the water, calm and grey, just soft ripples from the wind on the surface, and the faraway shapes of buildings on the other side of it.

An arm briefly wraps around his shoulder and reaches for the extra coffee cup. Bucky joins Steve on the bench, taking a grateful sip of the hot beverage.

“Hey, handsome stranger. Waiting for someone?”

Steve laughs, _just you_ , _you know it’s always you_ , and leans in for a short kiss. Whenever he gets to do that, he’s amazed and thankful that it’s okay for a man to openly love another man in the 21st century. It’s one of the things that the world got right.

“You wanna tell me how it went?” Steve asks, impatient, but adding, “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“Well, it was fine. She asked a lot questions though.”

“That’s kind of what therapy is all about, you know.”

“I guess. Still beats being brainwashed by Soviet scientists anyway. But only slightly.”

They stay like that for a while, drinking their coffees and staring at the water, hands clasped together on the bench. Attending therapy was Bucky’s own idea that he came up with after yet another sleepless night of reading articles online. It was an idea that Steve supported with his entire heart, especially if it was going to help Bucky see his own self worth that was so clearly visible to Steve, and sort out the issues Bucky couldn’t sort out on his own.

“She said I need to make an effort to come clean about some things. Especially to people I care about. So here’s a start.”

“Oh?”

Bucky twists to look at Steve. “You know how we talk about stuff that happened when we were young? Or how you ask me if I remember certain things or people? Well, sometimes I pretend to remember because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Bucky, I’d never want you to - you don’t have to-”

“I know. I remember a lot, but still not everything. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Let’s make a deal, alright?” Steve sits cross-legged on the bench so he can fully face Bucky. “Let’s agree to never lie to each other, even if it’s meant to protect the other person’s feelings. Do you think we can do that?”

Bucky stills for a second, scratching his beard and surveying Steve with a smile. “I think we can. I also think my therapist would absolutely love you.”

“Well too bad, I’m already taken.”

Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, gazing at a passing ship and the tiny people on board of it, living their lives, getting to experience the world like humans should. These days Steve finds himself enjoying the normalcy more often than not, looking forward to whatever the future might bring. Hell, he’s even _excited_ for it.

The feeling of being whole never goes away anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't be a thing without my friend McKinlie. Read her awesome IronDad fics over on [her ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkaboutartassholes).
> 
> Please talk to me in the comments because I live for it!
> 
> Catch me on [my tumblr](https://samrull.tumblr.com).


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